Katy Times

Well, the wedding felt more like a reunion to me, in more ways than one.

It wasn't just seeing a bevy of familiar faces, or driving down streets with towering skyscraper trees, or singing in my old choir, it was being reminded that a piece of my heart will always remember Katy as home, even if I tried to bury those sentiments away for years.

Here are some of the standout moments of the three days.

Stepping off the plane and feeling COLD because it was 85 degrees outside.  Yes, it really was 104 in NYC the day before, and yes I really did reshape a candle in my apartment with my bare hands and no additional heating.

When the woman at the rental counter actually SMILED at me, it made me realize how friendly people are in the South, and how much of a difference a welcoming grin really does make.

When the rental car people gave me a cream Cadillac to drive and I couldn't decide whether that meant I should be pimp-ridin' or 85 and blue-haired.

Further, when I decided I didn't feel safe driving a boat in monsoon rains or parallel parking it, even if it was a luxurious car, I couldn't believe I felt safer in Cobalt, nor that I ended up getting incredible flak from the original rental staff for trading them out.

Driving down 59 at 30 mph in sheets of rain, and later driving under 59 and having to stop in a lake, wondering if my car would drive again after waiting at a red light in 8 inches of water.

Sitting down for probably the one and only time ever at Baker's Street Pub in Rice Village and discovering that Paige Lewis, the girl who had the locker next to me for two years in high school before she left to be a Christian recording artist, was playing that night at the pub.

Finding out Maripat's fiancee's name was Holsten, and calling Michael that name by accident the next night at Ashleigh's rehearsal dinner.

Reminiscing about the Christmas Lizzie put WAY too much Grand Marnier in the cake.

Eating like a fat kid at all my favorite places: Jimmy John's, real Texas Dr. Pepper, H-E-B, Chick-fil-A (the new spicy chicken is D-E-licious, though it really needs lettuce, tomato and mayo too), Best Donuts (mmmmm Kolaches!), and Le Madeleine.  Sadly, I didn't make it to China Inn for the CRISPIES, first because I didn't realize they weren't out of business, but had relocated, and second because I ran out of time.

Driving down the concrete Mississippi River known as I-10.  It actually got scarier.  Because you suddenly have to cross 6 lanes without warning.  It's like Fast and the Furious in 3-D.  And you might actually die.

Being invited to sing with old choir members, and being blown away by how skilled they are.  I'm SO not a choir singer anymore.  That took some muscle memory.

Looking in Ms. Land's eyes and connecting to her as a man, realizing the last time we did that while performing I was merely a boy.

Jumping up and down that I would get to see Kenny at the rehearsal dinner.

Feeling more at home behind the wheel of a car in Katy because I spent most of my driving years there.

Hugging Lauren in disbelief that she has a 5 month old son.

Seeing Andi and Lauren and Megan for the first time in 10 years, much to my surprise!

Reminding myself that Ms. Sharon might be a bigger Broadway fan nerd than I am.  And so happy to see her.

3 words.  No zoning laws.

Noticing how some things (the theater, the dance studio, the trucks) never change, but how much other things (the trees, Katy, people) do.

Being chastised by both Ms. Land and Janet for not asking for help when I needed it.  Lesson learned.

Walking down memory lane in Ms. Land's office, amazed at her archives of some things that should never be revisited.  Hindsight can blind.

Chick-fil-A at noon in the summer.  I forgot.

Seeing housing developments miles past where I used to drive go-carts through the dirt and learned how to drive a truck.

Michael's twin brother's toast at the rehearsal dinner.  Amazing.

Laughing with Janet through H-E-B.  Most fun grocery store visit ever.

The perfect acoustics under the covered walkway at Ashleigh's gorgeous outdoor ceremony.

Sharing the real life stories behind the reunion facade over post-reception drinks.  Wanting only the best for my friends.

Dancing with my friends at the wedding to Footloose.  Erin saying: "You didn't think you'd know many people here, did you?  And now everybody you know is here and wants to see you."

Ashleigh's face as I told her about her Wicked backstage tour wedding gift.  Something so minimal to me, something so monumental to her.

Staying up far too late watching pubescent acne-laden Gleeks-in-training version of ourselves go to TMEA and ACDA.

Not wanting the fun to end, but returning to real life anyway.

It turned out to be an amazing 3 days, of which I'll always be reminded when I think about the people who impacted me most in Texas.  A place I tried so hard to remove myself from, but the roots still hold strong.

Back to High School

One year ago I was overflowing with school spirit, playing for a basketball team, and watching my teammate win the lead role in the school musical.  I was 26, and back in high school.

Onstage, of course.

This week, I'm almost literally going back to high school, without the cheesy Disney score, and without the walk down the school hallways since they'll probably be closed up for the summer.  Yet I might as well be heading to a reunion in an over-populated ghost town.  How is it that last year's high school felt so much more familiar?

I have NO IDEA what it's going to feel like seeing the people and places I've hardly kept up with for the past 9 years.  Where did 9 years go?  When you add them all up, sure, it makes sense: 4 years of college, 2 years on the road/ship, 1 year in Japan, and another 2 years of working regionally and living in New York, but still...

9 YEARS?!

Most of my high school friends are married (or joining in the club) and starting families, and I'm still single, relatively unemployed, and chasing my dreams in the big city.

Funny thing.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

I'm excited to be that person who left.  Who got out.  Who is blazing his own very unique path in the world that most of my former classmates can hardly understand.

I don't get on planes to go to meetings and stay in hotels in wonderful cities and never explore them.  My career transplants me to foreign places and pays me to go on adventures there.  

I don't wear a suit and tie every day or sit behind a desk or commute to the same office.  Every day is a new adventure for me with a unique flow, unique dress, and unique situations.

I'm light-years away from the teenager I was...

So why am I so nervous to go back and visit high school?

Pure Imagination

I'm a little confused by something here in Tokyo. See, I thought I was coming to work in a show with professional grown-ups.

Instead, I often have this eerie feeling (accompanied by requisite "wooooo woooo" sounds) that time has somehow reversed itself and I'm back in high school. In the locker room. Where boys are awkward and immature and rude and the girls are catty and insecure. And I for one, have never wanted to go back to that place.

Now I'm all for having a good time at work, especially when we're going to be there 9 hours a day, but I do have to say that I'm not comfortable with mean, degrading humor that puts other people down. The kind that takes their dignity and steps on it over and over with a spiky track shoe. I just really don't see the need to be impolite and insulting. There are plenty of ways to make people laugh without hurting someone's feelings. A lesson I learned well from my wonderful dad and the immeasurably wise Reenie.

So. Instead of stooping to a low, nasty, teenage level, I have decided to remove myself from negative, insulting, and occasionally discriminatory humor and bigotry, and in turn, I reminded myself of something I LOVE!

Reading a good book.

I think sometimes, when I don't have a good book and sometimes am not quite sure what to read next, my soul gets a little lost. Cuz my brain loses a healthy outlet of imagination and instead I constantly create strange conversations in my head. Especially in the land of Nippon where 90% of the day I can't communicate with people.

So I picked up a delightfully free copy of "Flesh and Blood" by Michael Cunningham (the guy who wrote "The Hours") from the dozo bookshelf downstairs. I've read quite a bit of his work and enjoy it, and this book is turning out to be one of my favorites so far. He has a phenomenal understanding of the human psyche and writes inner emotional monologue so well. And so now, I have this lovely escape from high school into a fantastic journey of fiction. And I'm thrilled.

Especially because my crazy imagination and willingness to suspend disbelief usually mean that when I read, I immerse myself in a story. I remember sophomore year of college when I was reading the incredible "A Density of Souls" by Christopher Rice, that I had been reading in my top bunk at Flather for about 2 hours one afternoon. And when I got up to go eat dinner, it was sunset, and I remember being cold and shivering and unsettled at the table. It was a good ten minutes later that I realized I had become so involved in the novel, that I personally was behaving as if the same Category 4 hurricane in the novel was right howling outside the old North windows, when in reality it was a beautiful fall evening outside. Not to say that we didn't eventually have Isabella hit DC junior year providing a four-day weekend, but basically it just was windy outside and the rest of our neighborhood lost power.

I don't think anything trumps my utter fear of and complete belief in the Wicked Witch of the West when I was 3 or 4 and Mom took me to see The Wizard of Oz at YGP. (This was obviously before I began my formative years there). I was so frightened by her and believed her to be so real and evil that I wouldn't go within 20 feet of her during the Meet and Greet after the show.

Once, too, when I watched Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom at 10 years old, I didn't even make it 20 minutes into the movie, yet that night I had to sleep with the light on because I thought the teddy bears in the walls were going to jump out of the wallpaper and attack me like the ninjas in the movie.

And I had nightmares for a month in second grade after seeing the original Willy Wonka (because that image section before the boat trip is so creepy and bizarre) that I was gonna blow up into a blueberry. So yeah. There's that utter suspension of disbelief at work.

So I'm reading something other than guidebooks in Japan and it's making me a much smarter, more relaxed, and much happier Tophs.

Oh. And I went to Shibuya today again and basically let some Japanese salesman play dress up with me as the doll. It was crazy the things he was trying to get me to buy, but then I had to use the awful "maybe" tactic so I could get out of there without spending any money. I also went back to Harajuku and salivated over those Puma high-tops I want so badly. I'm thinking they might be my opening night gift to myself. I finally found a pic of them online too. And yes mom, I know you hate them already.

Dress rehearsals for me start tomorrow! Woo hoo!